Psalm 58

CMD

Do you rulers speak what is just?
Do you correctly judge?
No, in your heart you are unjust,
Your hands harm all you touch.
The wicked from the womb mistake,
They lie from birth, they veer.
Their venom's like that of a snake,
A cobra that can't hear.

These snakes the charmer's tune ignore

How ever well they play.
Their teeth, O God, from their mouths tear,
Take lions' fangs away!
Let them vanish as water flows,
Blunted their arrows be,
As slugs melt or a stillborn goes -
May they the sun not see.

Before your pots can feel the heat,

Thorns green or dry below,
Away the wicked all are swept,
The righteous glad to know.
The righteous bathe their feet in blood
That from the wicked flowed.
All say they have their just reward
And all earth's judged by God.

Psalm 57

10.10.10.10

Mercy, O my God, have mercy on me,
Because now my soul takes refuge in you.
The shadow of your wings my refuge be,
Until the disaster has passed on through.

I cry to God, God Most High I cry to,
God who fulfils his purpose for me, sends
From heav'n and saves, rebukes foes who pursue,
With love and with faithfulness God descends.

I, in the midst of li'ns, with fierce beasts, lie -
Men's teeth - spears and arrows, their tongues - sharp swords.
Above the heavens, God, be lifted high;
Let all the glory through earth be the Lord's.

For my feet they nets spread - bowed down, distressed.
They dug pits in my path but in them fell.
Steadfast my heart, God, still steadfast my heart;
I will sing and I'll make music as well.

Awake, my soul! Wake harp and lyre new strung!
Dawn I'll awake as it comes into view
I'll praise you, Lord, all the nations among;
Among the peoples, I will sing of you.

For great is your love, reaching to the sky;
Your faithfulness reaches ever upwards.
Above the heavens, God, be lifted high;
Let all the glory through earth be the Lord's.

Poets observe

Poets observe,
That's what they do,
A sparrow that sings,
A wasp's whisp'ring wings,
The brown leaves now few,
Light thrown on the dew.

Poets observe,
That's what they do,
Green ivy that clings,
The sharp nettle stings,
The foxgloves that grew,
White seagulls that flew.

Poets observe,
That's what they do,
The silver bell rings,
The joy morning brings.
Black crows in a yew,
The way the wind blew.

Poets observe,
That's what they do,
Now pulling some strings
And transforming things,
But does it ring true?
Well, that's up to you!

"Done because we are too menny"

How many will heaven hold?

How many does God love?

Is this sounding too bold?

 

What's too hard for the Lord?

What is it he can't do?

Leave your dross for this gold.

 

He hates the death of souls,

He loves the sinner, true,

Longs to enlarge the fold.

 

How many will heaven hold?

How many does God love?

Their number can't be told.

 

I read Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy in my early twenties. A miserable book, it reaches a low point when the socially-disturbed son of the hero and his lover "Little Father Time," comes to believe that he and his half-siblings are the source of the family's woes and so murders her two children and commits suicide by hanging. He leaves behind a note that simply reads, "Done because we are too menny." No wonder Hardy wrote no more novels. This was my oblique response.

Kanpur August 31 1979

I know big boys don't cry
But I'm ill and I'm down.
My spirit burns low,
And my heartfelt cry -
Not medicine, father,
Not comfort, not home,
Simply "Mam".
Where's my mother?
O to be in her arms,
O to be cradled, caressed,
To be cared for by no other hand,
Take me home to my mother land!

(As a young man I travelled to India and got sick, as you do. I wrote this then.)

Not hard to believe it

Earthly things seem to me like a day dream,
Like a cornfield lives men sway before me.
O loving God, you're my Lord,
Your Christ is my love and I rest on your Word.

Sinners dance in a trance all their life time,
Grace from the Spirit could save them from their crime.
With him we may mount and ride
Pilgrims to heaven, your Word is our guide.

The Widow's Mite

The widow's might
Might be but a mite,
But oh that we might do the same.
If our mite was our might
And our might was given as a mite,
Then how mighty might we be.

Unborn

While I was still a twinkle in your eye,
Why did you have to blink?

Ambition

When I thought of being
What I am today
Many moons ago,
Little did I know
It would be this way.
No, I never really knew,
I didn't have a clue
But now, I do.

True Love

True love is like the morning sun
It's big and round and lots of fun
But like the sunrise every day
Why is true love so far away?

The fantasist

He imagined Imogen
While on a date with Kate.

Lyrical and cynical

I'm too far sighted
To be incited
To be excited
Over you.

Preacher's Saturday Song

Where's my hymn book to?
Is it in Timbuktu?
Where's my hymn book gone?
It was here all along.

Cool of the day

I'm walking on God's earth
In the cool of the day
Wending my way
In the cool of the day.
On my own
In the cool of the day,
In the cool, cool, cool of the day.

When will I walk with him
In the cool of the day?
With Christ I say
In the cool of the day.
Hold his hand
In the cool of the day,
In the cool, cool, cool of the day.

Today we walk as one
In the cool of the day.
I walk and pray
In the cool of the day.
With my Lord
In the cool of the day,
In the cool, cool, cool of the day.

Deja vu

This is the poem about deja vu
Here's the poem that tells you what to do
And it's just like the poem that you read
The one that got stuck deep inside your head.

This is that poem about deja vu
So now you know exactly what to do
For it's just like the poem that you read
The one that got stuck deep inside your head.

That was the poem about deja vu
The poem that told you just what to do
And it's just like the poem that you read
The one that got stuck deep inside your head.

Which is the poem about deja vu?
The poem that tells you just what to do?
Is it just like the poem that you read?
The one that got stuck deep inside your head?

This is the poem about deja vu
Here's the poem that tells you what to do
And it's just like the poem that you read
The one that got stuck deep inside your head.